


Consumed by Fire

by fajrdrako



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fajrdrako/pseuds/fajrdrako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark has a secret: he is the stuff of legends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consumed by Fire

I

Clark had nightmares. He woke, trembling in the dark, and found Lex's arms around him, comforting him, while Lex's gentle voice talked him back to reality.

It was not the first time.

"Feeling better?" asked Lex, his lips in Clark's hair.

"I have to go," said Clark, but he didn't move. The fire in Lex's bedroom cast a warm glow over the room, but he felt chilled to the bone. He buried his face in Lex's shoulder. Lex could warm him. Lex was hot. Lex burned: with ambition, with sex, with thought. Sometimes he thought Lex was the only true source of warmth in the universe.

"What was it this time?"

"People. They needed me. I couldn't be there. I was busy...."

"The Cassandra dream," said Lex. He had heard it, or variations of it, before. "Why do you feel responsible for so many people?"

"Because there's so much need." Clark knew he wasn't making sense.

"You aren't responsible," said Lex.

"Yes, I am."

"Why?"

It was the question which burned in Clark's mind: why? Why me? Why, out of all the galaxies, was he the one who had fallen through the air to Smallville, to make a home among these beautiful, needy, vulnerable people?

He had no answer, and he could not tell Lex his secrets. 

 

II

Marriage had a bad effect on Lex. It made him grumpy afterwards.

A few weeks after the annulment of his marriage to Desire, Lex took Clark back into his bed. When he was boneless from spent passion - of the kind that, over and over and over, only Lex could bring him - Lex tried to tempt him to confession. "You set those fires, didn't you?"

"No, of course not."

"Desiree said...."

"Desiree tried to make my father kill you. Desiree tried to seduce me. Desiree lied about everything. Why believe her about that?"

Lex was silent for a while, wrapping a strand of Clark's hair around his finger. Just as Clark was slipping away to sleep, Lex explained. "Because I saw the door-handle burn her hand when she touched it."

"I wasn't anywhere near the door."

"You looked at it."

"No."

Lex didn't argue. He just said, "Why can't you trust me?"

Because you are only human. Because you are a Luthor. Because I can't afford to trust anyone.

"I do trust you," lied Clark.

Lex sighed in the dark. 

 

III

Clark dreamed of a forest in which there was no light. There were meteor rocks and traps and shape-changing women like harpies with wings. Sometimes they were Lana, and sometimes they were Helen Bryce.

There was no light, and the forest was cold.

He awoke trembling, with no Lex to hold him. He had to distance himself from Lex. He hated it, but he had to do it, for so many reasons. Otherwise he and Lex would destroy each other. A businessman, an ambitious politician, could not love a schoolboy and get away with it. Not when he had many enemies.

Not when the schoolboy was an alien hiding his secret from even the person he loved most. 

 

IV

Clark walked through file in the kiln and emerged without pain. He was angry; he was stronger than ever; he was more than Clark Kent but less than Kal-El. He was not sure who or what he was any more.

Sometimes he thought he was an element, like fire or water or air; some force of nature, pretending to be human. Kryptonian. Whatever.

Sometimes he thought that without Lex, he would go crazy. He would run away to Metropolis and sell himself for drug money. He would run away to sea and spend the rest of his life diving for pearls in the South Pacific. He would take up gambling, like Lucas, and wear pin-striped suits.

His parents told him not to worry so much. They didn't understand what it felt like to be an alien, and alone in the universe. Krypton had been consumed by fire; it had imploded like a black hole, leaving nothing but a few meteor rocks and one orphan boy.

Lex was busy a lot: with work, with Helen, with things Clark didn't know about and didn't ask about because if he couldn't tell Lex his secrets, how could he expect Lex to tell him his?

Clark tried not to hate Helen. He didn't think Lex loved her. He thought Lex had loved him, but he didn't know how to make him say it any more than he knew how to persuade him to give up the idea of marrying Helen (the perfect woman) and to take Clark back - Clark who was neither perfect nor, strictly speaking, a man. Not a human man.

He couldn't tell his parents he loved Lex. It was like the thing about being an alien: they wouldn't understand. Sometimes he thought he was going to explode from all the secrets he held in his brain, burning patterns into his psyche.

When he went back to Lex, Lex took him back without question. He always did.

Sometimes Clark thought it would be easier if he just stayed away from Lex, but he couldn't do it. He would go a day, maybe two, then find himself drawn back to Luthor Manor as if Lex had some magic to call him. He would find Lex reading, or working, or asleep in bed - usually without Helen, who had a bed and a room of her own.

Lex never asked stupid questions, like "Where were you?" or "Why did you leave me?" Instead he used his mouth to set Clark's skin on fire, and Clark thought there was nothing worth having except the what Lex ignited in him: blazing suns, nuclear conflagration, energy so intense it consumed them both.

Lex had changed. He laughed less, asked no questions. When he talked, it was about things like the evolutionary development of the orchid, recipes for dim sum, designs for a new kind of car engine, or speculation on the origin of the universe.

Clark liked to hear him talk, because he needed only to listen. 

 

V

The messy scandal after Lex's second divorce was something Clark almost missed, because he had problems of his own.

He had been back in Smallville a month before he went back to Lex's place.

Lex wasn't in bed. He was sitting in his study, drinking, reading by the light of one lamp, the room otherwise lit by only the light of the fire in the fireplace and a tall purple candle beside it. Lex looked older than he used to, and he didn't welcome Clark with open arms. Instead he said, "Clark, what do you want?"

"Something better," said Clark.

"Better than what?"

"Being alone."

"Being alone isn't so bad," said Lex. "No one betrays you then."

Clark wasn't sure whether that was a reproach. He said, "Lex, what happened to us? We were so good together."

"Lana happened," said Lex.

"No, she didn't."

"That was what it looked like to me."

"A lot of things happened," said Clark. "You were the best of them."

Lex shook his head. "It was just sex between us."

"No, it wasn't."

"Not on my part. I was obsessed with you, Clark. My God. Maybe I always will be."

"But?"

"You... go away. You don't need me. You're afraid to trust me. I want more than that, Clark."

"Whatever you want, it's okay," said Clark. "Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Are you sure? You used to."

Lex stood up. He had lost weight, and the lavender silk shirt hung loosely on his shoulders. Clark wanted to tear it off him and cover him in kisses, but the set expression on Lex's face was uninviting.

"Let's negotiate." Lex spoke lightly, though his eyes were hard. "Sex? Is that what you want? Affection? Love?"

"I love you."

"You don't even know what the word means."

Clark swallowed. "I do. I'll show you. What else do you want?"

"Trust me with your secret."

Clark dropped his eyes. "Which one?" He managed not to sound bitter.

"There is only one, isn't there, Clark? One that ties all the others together?"

Clark said, "It hurts, doesn't it? To be on fire with love and not know how to deal with it?"

"You tell me," said Lex. "How would I know?" He kept his voice mild, but Clark could tell, because he knew him so well, that Lex was burning with anger.

Clark stood tall and strong. "I'll tell you a secret, then. Not my secret. Your secret. You have a room of stuff about me. You have an exact copy of the octagon, the one you called a paperweight, and articles from the paper about anything I might possibly have had any connection with, and a big picture of me."

Lex was pale, but he stood his ground. "Helen told you?"

"She didn't need to. I've seen it, Lex."

"I keep it locked."

"I can see through walls."

Lex tilted his head, thinking. "That would explain a lot."

"And I can make door handles hot by looking at them - you know that already. And I can move faster than you can see with the naked eye, but you have video-tapes showing that, don't you? I'm strong enough to rip the roof off your Porsche. Lex. How much more do you know already?"

"Tell me more," said Lex. He seemed unmoved, but he was hardly breathing.

Clark walked over to him, standing close, looming. "What do you know about Krypton?"

"It's an inert gas present in small quantities in air, atomic number thirty-six, from the Greek word -"

"It's where I'm from." Clark dipped his head and ran his lips against Lex's. Lex stepped backwards, avoiding the kiss, avoiding the implications.

"There is no place on earth called Krypton," he said.

"It wasn't on earth."

Lex's eyes flashed. "Prove it. For two years you tell me you're an ordinary farmboy, till I don't believe my own senses. Now you tell me you're superhuman. Fine. Prove it."

"All right," said Clark recklessly. "I will." He took the bottle of expensive brandy beside Lex's chair and crushed it in one hand, over his head. Brandy and glass poured over his hair and shoulders, soaking his flannel shirt.

"Clark?" said Lex. There was fear in his voice, banked but audible.

Clark put his arm over the flame of the candle. The flannel and brandy burned; his clothes were on fire. He felt the energy of the flames running along his arm and over his body. He felt the heat as a rush of sensation like water or air, without pain. He felt the clothes turning to ash, falling off his body to the floor, consumed.

Lex cried out, but there was no one to hear except Clark. The flames stopped when brandy and clothing were gone. "You see?" said Clark.

"You are indestructible?"

"No. Kryptonite can kill me. Those green meteor rocks."

"Are there others like you?"

"No."

"Why tell me now?"

"Because I can't live without you."

"You can. You proved it."

"I don't want to live without you."

Lex said, "We have such capacity to destroy each other."

"Why? Why do I frighten you?"

Lex thought, then reluctantly smiled. "No. I frighten myself. It's so damn scary to love someone, Clark."

"Can you love an alien?"

"I don't seem to be capable of anything else."

"Love me, then," said Clark. "Let's be the stuff of legends. I won't hurt you, this time. There won't be any Lanas or any Helens. I'll be there for you."

Lex raised a finger, and touched it to Clark's lips. "Don't make promises. Just... don't. Love doesn't need guarantees. It just is."

Clark kissed his finger. "Any terms at all. Anything you want. Any way you want me."

"It won't be easy. I am not an easy man."

"So? Be a hard man. I like that in you, Lex."

He meant it as a joke, but instead of smiling, Lex quoted poetry:

__

Who then devised the torment? Love. Love is the unfamiliar Name Behind the hands that wove The intolerable shirt of flame Which human power cannot remove. We only live, only suspire Consumed by either fire or fire.


__

"Consume me, then," said Clark. "Torment me. Whatever you do will only make us stronger together."

Lex took him in his arms. "Destiny?" he said, and under the teasing tone, was something unbearably like hope.

So Clark kissed him.

\- end -

**Author's Note:**

> About six weeks ago, Isagel and I had a conversation about T.S. Eliot, and challenged each other to write a Clex story inspired by something written by Eliot. We set a deadline of July 31. Isagel wrote hers long ago; it was brilliant. It was called Not less than everything, from the wonderful lines at the end of Eliot's Four Quartets:
> 
> A condition of complete simplicity   
> (Costing not less than everything)   
> And all shall be well and   
> All manner of thing shall be well
> 
> I was slower, but I take deadlines seriously, and it isn't yet midnight of July 31, and here I am with a story. This is unbetaed, unedited, and as close to stream-of-consciousness as I ever get. My quote is also from Four Quartets, and only one page earlier.


End file.
